Tub runneth over

Monday, April 23, 2007

I always thought that certain things only happened in movies or on television. Thanks to the powers that be, this theory was proven wrong Sunday afternoon.

The scenario: Bonnie has finished weeding the back yard. She is covered in dirt and weed sludge. Bathing is required.

So I turn on the taps, add a little peach bubble bath (to compensate for the patch of stinkweed I discovered in the back 40) and grab a Diet Coke.

The phone rings.

In an act of complete absurdity, I...answer it. A wonderful friend is on the other end of the line. Enough time has passed since our last conversation to compare notes on a dumbass situation happening at her place of employment...then I had to tell her about the contest I just won (more on that another day)...and we had a really great little chat.

Until I noticed the water. On the carpet. In the hallway.

In Hollywood, the heroine usually takes one look at the disaster zone and immediately freaks out. In Bonnieland, I took a look at the waves cascading over the top of the tub and thought:

"Wow, it really is possible to flood the bathroom."

Then I totally freaked. Twisted knobs. Pulled the plug. Grabbed a large bucket from the basement and started throwing water out the back door.

At this point I must point out that the next door neighbours, who were hanging out in their back yard, didn't find the sight of me in a drenched bathrobe pitching buckets of water out the back of the house as odd. Must be the new black pants I bought last week.

Do you know what happens to the water that cascades out of the bathtub? It pools at the lowest point of the room; at Casa Staring, that is the area behind the toilet. Nice.

Then the water seeps into the hallway and finds any gaps in the flooring to drip down into the (thankfully) unfinished basement, bathing the washing machine in now grimy water. Wearing socks at this point appears to be pointless so I remove them, only to end up wiping out on the soaked basement floor.

Luckily the washing machine broke my fall.

At this point, I have left three messages on the DH's cell phone:

#1: Hi honey, it's me. Uh, can you call me back right away?

#2: Hi, me again. Hey, does our shopvac work on sucking up large amounts of water? Call me.

#3: WHERE ARE YOU? HELLLLLPPPPP!

My knight in shining armor was on his way home, oblivious to the disaster that was awaiting him as he had misplaced his cell phone at a car show. He and his British-car-mechanic friend pulled into the driveway. He was the one to notice the crazed dirt-covered woman in a soaked bathrobe wielding a bucket on the back step.

"Uh mate, I think Bonnie's in a spot of trouble." he called out to DH.

I think that's when I started to cry. ;)

The good news: our bathroom floor has never been cleaner. And the carpet has finally dried out. The bad news: any thoughts associated with bathing are currently far from relaxing. Le sigh.